Bland
by UrakeNoKuma
Summary: What happens to a lonely Yordle? Read and Find out! Rated M because I say so
1. Chapter 1

Piltover in autumn. How long have I been here now? 4 months? 5? I don't know. And I'm not sure if I care.

The last rays of afternoon sun creep over my face as I walk down the busy road towards my flat. But the sun can't battle the brisk autumn winds any more, forcing their way through streets and alleyways dimly lit by pale technomagical lights. It's cold, not even my fur can defend me against the wind.

I don't really pay attention any more, walking through the streets that should feel at least a bit like home now but somehow don't towards my apartment that doesn't feel all too homey either. A nearly violent gust of wind hits me, pushing me back a bit. I look into the alleyway I was about to turn into. It feels a bit as if not even the wind wants me to reach my new home. It's pushing me back.

Back?... Where to? The academy? No. Tomorrow is another day for testing the miraculous possibilities that this facility offers me. In my fancy, shiny lab, cluttered with fuses, metal and whatever else you could possibly want if you were about to build an explosive. No. Not everything I could possibly want. I build bombs. I make test objects explode. I note down. I adapt. I repeat. All day. Every day. How can EXPLOSIONS possibly get boring?

I almost pass by my apartment building, completely sunken into myself. As I start rummaging through my pockets in search of the key, a wild urge to blow up the whole block starts building up inside me. Obliterating that whole grey, colourless monstrosity in one giant blast, leaving nothing but ashes and burning debris... my furry fingers clutch an edgy copper object in my back pocket, ripping me out of my thoughts.

I let myself in, pondering if I need some food or drinks for my night with no one but myself. Looking back out of the still open door I decide that I don't, slowly starting to walk further into the building after closing the door behind me. It's dark in the staircase but I find my way. I reach the third floor, panting heavily, cursing under my breath about the lack of elevators in this oh so developed city and human-sized stairs.

I open my apartment door, immediately dropping my stuff and my helmet with the green goggles on the floor next to the entrance. Home sweet home. Stale air greets me, the room is filled with it and barely anything else.

A bed, a closet for my jumpsuits, a small fridge, an oven, a tiny bathroom. Of course I could afford more. But why? So I can have more furniture gathering dust while I'm at work? I strip down to my boxers and take a quick look into the fridge, without any sufficient outcome.

I flop down on the bed, looking down my body. I need to do laundry again soon, I had to use one of these emergency-boxers today. How hard can it be to find some yordle-sized clothes in this city that doesn't have cute baby animals printed on them? Not even human kids should be forced to wear this, for a grown Yordle man like me this is an utter disgrace. I take off the underwear, looking at them in disgust.

Baby blue boxer shorts with little kittens and puppies printed on them, sleeping, playing around or just looking at me in the cutest way they could muster. Better be naked than having to see myself wearing these. I toss my last remaining piece of clothing through the room, semi-aiming for the trash can at the far side of the room.

On halfway they drop. A little puppy looks at me from my boxers disappointed. "At least you have you fluffy little friends to hang out with! Don't look at me like that!" I blare at it. So I'm talking to my underwear now. I know I'm considered weird by most Yordles. But in Bandle I always had friends who liked my insanity. At least one I had. I HAD. I haven't spoken to him since I told him that I was accepted here. I could have never imagined so much hurt and disgust in the eyes of my best friend. Of my only real friend, to be honest.

I switch off the light and turn around to avoid the cold light of the lights down on the street. It gets warm under the covers. I shut my eyes and turn around again. I silently moan of frustration. No sleep again? Let's get this over with, then... With no real motivation at all my right hand creeps down my belly. I lie on my back now, doing something to my crotch which could hardly be called caressing. But it serves it's purpose. I force myself to feel instead of think, squeezing my eyes shut and engulfing myself in blackness as my body reacts to its own touch.

I start stroking my manhood, almost violently. To late to stop now, to late to not feel disgusted of myself as well. I start to grab at my chest fur, mumbling words that I can't distinguish myself. Don't want to distinguish, really. I brain is off, only the strokes count. I'm not even sure if I'm hurting or pleasuring myself. It's probably both. Or none.

Heavy breaths. Nothing around me. I still mumble those non-words, louder and louder as I get closer to the end. Out of nowhere pictures flash before my inner eye.

A face-splitting grin. Golden eyes. Trapezoidal ears. A Mohawk. A blue Mohawk.

I cry out the last word I was mumbling as I cramp, my back arching, my eyes shooting open. I clench my fists, crying the last word out again, finally shooting gush after gush of semen, soiling my belly and chest fur. I still see that face in from of me, clear like daylight and just as bright. Only now I can comprehend the words I muttered. The word, actually. Not even a real word. A name.

I turn over, away from the pale light that shines in from outside, not bothering to clean myself up. The puppy on my underwear looks sad now, along with his furry companions. Not a single small, fluffy thing in this city, not even cute baby animals on children's underwear.

I squash my face into the pillow, the sheets absorbing parts of the fluids still sticking to my torso. The nothingness closes in on my. I try to sleep, to forget. To forget about tomorrow, about the new day that is just like this day which was just like yesterday. Which was just like any other day since I came here. The pillow absorbs my tears. Just like any other day.

What have I done?


	2. Chapter 2: Ruins

***** Note: I'm back! I just want to say thanks to the wonderful Soojimasu for the inspiration for starting this fan fiction and Beta-reading, as well as everyone who read the first chapter, motivating me to continue this. Better late than never: I don't own League of Legends and the characters used here, they belong to Riot Games entirely. Have fun reading!*****

**Bland: Chapter 2 – Ruins **

I feel warm. A hot breath brushes against my left ear. Strong, yet gentle arms caress my belly from behind. He whispers words to me. Soft, comforting, loving words. I can't understand them. I reach to the back of his head, pulling his face closer to mine. I turn slightly, brushing my lips against his furry cheek. His hands wander under my shirt, pushing it up slightly. I close my eyes for a moment, savouring it. Then I turn around in his embrace, opening my eyes again to be welcomed by his gaze.

He looks at me with these bright green emeralds, shining with love and…lust? He pulls my shirt off, he himself being completely naked already. I feel his arousal prodding against my leg. I lean forward just a bit, his face is so close to mine now. He whispers something, I don't care what it is. His lips touch mine and I feel the fire rushing through me. My whole being explodes from pure, rough joy. I lost my pants at one point during the kiss, we're lying in my bed now, passionately kissing, our tongues dancing. My heart dances too, my very soul being engulfed in his heat, his energy, his explosiveness. I've never felt so warm, yet so comfortable in my life. I melt into him, and he melts into me, our souls becoming one, our bodies soon to follow...

I shoot up in my bed. All the warmth is gone. I look around, almost frantically. My bed. My room. The window on the far side of the room is open and fills the room with cool air, the curtains slightly waving in the autumn breeze. I should close the window, it's getting awfully cold in here. I push back the covers and look down involuntarily. And moan out of frustration, the memory rushing back to me. I dreamt of him. Again. And apparently I soiled my pyjamas. Again.

Finally getting up to close the window I get rid of my pyjama pants, throwing them in the laundry basket near the bathroom door to join the ones from 3 days ago. I quickly look into the basket. I should really do my laundry...

I should definitely take a shower. My fur is still a bit damp from sweat and other fluids I lost during the night. Disgraceful. That shouldn't happen to a grown yordle man. And why always when I dream about HIM of all people?

Warm water rushing over my face. My fur feels better now, not as crusty as before. But it doesn't feel completely right. The water is warm, hot. Really hot. Steam is building up in the shower, my body fully soaked with water. I start shampooing my fur all over, taking special care of my lower belly to clean up properly. But something feels off. What's missing?

Who am I kidding here? I miss the warmth. This shower could be steamier than Tristy while overheating, but I'd still feel cold. This is not physical. This is about me and him. And it looks as if my life might stay cold forever.

I step out of the shower at last and start to dry off, giving it not much effort but taking good care of my Mohawk. I'm going to be dirty again as soon as I start working. Another day of tinkering my mind away from the world. I'm back to where I started...

I had flopped back on my bed, not bothering to put clothes on. I don't want to get up again. What's the point anyway? No. To work, Rumble! There's no point in lying in bed either, after all.

I pull on my everyday overalls and head out of my apartment. My workshop is on the other side of the city, in the industrial area. There are no homes there, nobody to care about loud work with different metals, explosions and such. It's pretty far off though, but I like my solitude.

I step out of my apartment complex, beginning the dreaded walk through Bandle's busy centre. Occasionally, people greet or wave, but mostly I earn indifferent looks and some despise, probably because of my dirty, oil stained overall. I dislike both reactions alike. Not that I mind being acknowledged. I just plain dislike large gatherings of people. There are really not that many people I feel comfortable around. None, really, now that I think of it. Not anymore...

I walk quietly through the masses of yordles strolling around, completely ignoring anyone and everyone. What is that feeling? I usually just get annoyed by many people in the same place. But since about a month or two it's getting worse. I feel anxious. Sometimes dizzy, even. I should probably avoid town square...

Finally the streets get less crowded. Grey buildings, mostly abandoned factories, broken windows, filthy alleys. I have reached Bandle's dead end. My workshop is the only place that is still functioning in this terrible part of town. They all shut down due to cheap and, I hate to admit it, well fabricated imported goods from Piltover. Anger is building up inside of me. Those damn sell outs. Leaving their home behind for a pat on the head and a kick in the ass, giving away supreme yordle ingenuity to humans and casually destroying Bandle's economy along the way.

The last shop to close here was the most painful, though... I walk past a large factory hall, whose doors aren't completely rotten yet. Only some months have passed since it was used last, but you could definitely see that it was used in a quite violent way. Small holes in the walls where detonations pierced through walls, metal splinters everywhere and a strong, sulphuric smell... This was his workplace. We used to hang out here or test some new inventions. Sometimes his, sometimes mine, sometimes collaborations. Or we just hung out and talked, laughed and had a great time. Had. I walk past the building, trying to ignore it to my best efforts. Mostly because I probably wouldn't be able to stop myself from turning it into a smoking pile of rubble if I didn't.

My workplace is a lot smaller. Just a medium sized garage, but enough space for Tristy, a bunch of tools, scrap metal and two yordles working on new inventions. It looks a bit empty now. I stand in front of the door, key in hand. I hesitate. Why would I even want to open this door, anyway? I haven't made any progress in several months now, I come here every day and after some hours I catch myself staring blankly at my robot, phasing out and my head empty. I still stand there, a cool autumn breeze brushing slightly through my ruffling Mohawk. I hear something, far in the distance. I perk my ears up in hopes to decipher what that small sound is.

Rustling. A constant, monotone rustling. I look around. Then I see it. That small piece of forest separating the end of the former industrial city from the Junkyard.

Looking back and forth, undecided between the door in front of me and the empty, grey alleyway. I think about the past months. Endless tinkering. Some minor adjustments with the flamespitter. Nothing that would ever make a difference, just more or less brushing off some dirt and getting myself covered in oil for some reason. I might as well take a little hike. Not like it would make any difference between sitting around in my workshop or walking around in the woods. I put the keys back into my pocket and turn to leave.

Clouds cover the sky. One giant mass of clouds. Grey, monotone, uniform clouds. It looks as if the sky was just another abandoned factory building. Just a bit less decayed, but even more depressing. It's cold, autumn winds brushing through the empty streets, pushing litter in no distinct direction. I walk towards the small forest, watching the leaves wave in the wind. The only thing with any colour at all. The leaves already turned their colours, now spotting red, yellow, brown and even a bit of green here and there.

With some rays of sun here and there it'd probably look kind of beautiful. Like this, though I have a different sight. This is decay. This is the end of life for this year. Like old metal gathers rust, nature develops these burning colours. A last desperate try to gain attention and look beautiful before ultimately falling to the ground, rotting and becoming a mush of brown dirt. Whether it's rusty metal, colourful leaves or friendships. Apparently everything has to end at some point. And the end is never pretty.

I walk through the forest now, not really thinking about where to go, as I already know where I'll end up. Narrow tree trunks, some roots here and there... The trees look unhealthy. Like they were not really living but more vegetating. I'm getting closer to my goal. Some of the stuff that ends up on the junkyard is poisonous and it seems to have affected the trees here...

I look at one particularly runt of a tree, parts of bark falling off, looking pale and dry. Then my gaze goes past the tree, spotting some metal pieces on the ground. I'm here. I walk over to the end of the tree line, overseeing a huge sink, filled with waste. Bandle City Junkyard. Where everything begun.

Back then, as a small pup, I'd always go to the Junkyard by myself. Not a single yordle in sight, just me. I and a seemingly endless amount of scrap metal, pieces of rubber, greasy parts of discarded machines. My empire. I was the king of the abandoned, just as unwanted as my kingdom of waste. I started building little figures. My own companions, as I saw them then. Now, I'd say it was more than fitting. Companions made out of things no one wanted for the boy no one wanted.

And then, one day, when I already lived in that shack on the Junkyard, eating what others gave me out of pity and what I stole out of spite, I saw him. The other kid. A trespasser, an intruder in my kingdom! I remember how I hated him. I hid behind a large steel wheel, a broken part of a train probably, and thought about what to do. I was so angry. Even here I was not alone, always there was someone to challenge my sovereignty. First my mental father, thinking that hitting me was the way to "cure" my antics, then the people from the foster home, who thought drowning me in fake love was enough to distract me from the fact that I was constantly under surveillance.

And now this brat, with his fancy headgear, hopping through MY Junkyard like a maniac. "Would killing someone really make my life that worse?" I thought. Victim of domestic violence, runaway, now murderer? "A pretty normal career." I thought. It would have been so easy. Just a little push to the pile of metal to my left and Mr. Over-energetic would have been buried under a mountain of sharp metal pieces. And then he detected me. He looked me straight in the eye and without missing a beat ran over to me to say hello. I was mesmerized. His eyes were so pure! No spite, no pity, no hatred. Nothing fake in them. Just open curiosity. I was never looked at like this before.

The day Ziggs and I became friends was the day I started healing. He brought back my own curiosity, which was the initial cause for the disaster my life had become. But now there was nobody to limit me. We started talking and he never wanted to take my Junkyard away from me. Or take me away from the Junkyard. He just wanted to share. And we started sharing. Material first, then our talents, our time, at one point we started to share our lives as we grew up together. Sometimes he even stayed overnight at my shack. The day he finally convinced me to join him and his family for dinner was my first step back to society. He gave me back my life, I opened a different facet of his to him: tinkering.

When he first saw my shack he immediately discovered my figures. I was so scared. My loneliness exposed to someone I had just met! But he was thrilled! He couldn't believe that I had built them, and asked me how I did it. He discovered his love for building things through me. And his love to destroy. In a place like this, with nothing that could become even more worthless than it already was we could blow up whatever we wanted. We grew with each other and influenced each other. From the first day to our last...

"Rumble?!" A voice calls out to me. I flinch. I don't know how long I've been standing here, not moving a muscle and just looking down on the junkyard. I turn around slightly to see Tristana and Teemo slowly approaching me. As if my mood hadn't been bad enough already. The only person I'd consider a friend after Ziggs departure, together with that constantly smiling dumbass.

"Tristana! Teemo. What brings you here?" I ask, as casually as possible. How did they even find me, at the most abandoned place Bandle has to offer?

"Oh, we were on a small mission together and are currently on our way back to Bandle. We were just wondering what you did here for so long."

For so long? "What do you mean, long?" I ask. Can't a yordle just look at something for a minute? "We saw you standing there in that exact same spot when we got here on our way out. That was almost 3 hours ago."

"What?!" Damn, don't lose your cool now Rumble! You stood there for at least 3 hours without moving. And even worse: they know! "Oh wow! Was it really that long?" I got to remain cool. Play it down, don't show weakness now! Think! Fast! "I was... ehrm... enjoying the view over my childhood, you could say! Haha!" They don't know that I lived here. Only Ziggs knows that. Don't let them find out, Rumble! You can do this!

Teemo frowns slightly, of course without stopping to smile. Tristana looks at me inquiringly for a second before her face lights up suddenly. "Oh! Okay then! We gotta head off now, don't we, Teemo?" What was that look in her eyes just now? Teemo looks slightly alarmed. Or am I only imagining that? "Oh. Y-Yeah, we really gotta hurry back. You can handle yourself, Rumble?" Okay, I'm sure Tristana looked at him when he said that. What was that expression? And what kind of question is that, anyway?

"Sure! Why wouldn't I? Go, you two. I'm just gonna head back to my workshop." There they run. Did she just punch him on the shoulder? Not sure if that makes me feel better now...

I turn around for a last look at the junkyard. What's that on the ground where I stood just now? Oh no. I swipe a hand over my cheek. Wet. No. Oh please no! I didn't... No. I couldn't have. I lick over my hand unconsciously. Salty. Oh heavens no. I sink to my knees and bury my face in my hands. Now I know why Tristana behaved so oddly. And why she tried to end the conversation as soon as she saw my face. Why does this have to happen to me?

I burst into tears again, not bothering to hold back any more. I hate to admit it but it's true. He gave me back my life when we first met.

And now he took it away again.

*****Note: I hope you like the second chapter! What? You didn't? Tell me why! → Review**

**You did? Wow, thanks! What did you like best? → Review as well =)**

**Thanks for reading, I'll be back with a next chapter soon. This will be NOT go unfinished!*****


	3. Chapter 3: Broken

*****Note: First of all: Thanks to all of you for sticking around and patiently waiting for me to finish this chapter. I had a rough time deciding how this will play out... I hope you like it! Second: I appreciate every review I get. And I heard the cries for smut. This is M-rated for a reason ;-). Third: Thanks again to Soojimasu for Beta-reading and giving constant inspiration and input. Have fun reading! All Characters belong to Riot Games. Blablablayaddayaddayadda*****

**Chapter 3: Broken**

Tristana walked quietly towards the training grounds. The air was brisk, the early morning sun slowly melted the first frost of the year away from the mostly leafless trees. The steady clink of her metal-booted footsteps echoed back from the walls of the buildings lining the relatively small street she was wandering down, casually resting her bazooka on her right shoulder. Bandle was quiet at this time of day, especially on weekends. But there were no holidays for a zealous Megling Gunner and League Champion, so she decided to get some training done while no one else was using the military grounds. Maybe some laps to get warm, some aiming practice and by the time her less experienced colleagues would show up she would already have a serious head start.

Approaching the gate, Tristana frowned. She was just searching her pockets for the entrance key as she saw that the gate was not locked. Did someone forget to lock it last night? No, the last one to leave yesterday was herself. And she was definitely sure to have this gate locked. So this would mean...

Who would have the eagerness to come to train on an early Sunday morning, combined with the guts to risk meeting her here? Everyone knew that she was not at all a morning person. Most yordles knew to retreat on sight from her before 10 am. So who would try to contest her peaceful training time in the morning? Then it dawned on her. There was only one person that she just couldn't and wouldn't slaughter mercilessly.

As she turned around the corner to the cross-country-track she found her suspicion confirmed as a crème-coloured blur bolted around on the obstacle course.

Teemo continued hopping over barrels, sliding under barbed wires and rapidly changing directions. Of course he did not miss on the fact that he was not alone any more, the loud clonk of a large, heavy object being rested against the wall made it more than obvious that Tristana had finally arrived.

Of course Teemo knew better than to react in any way, let alone stop training and go greet her. Getting a gauntlet shoved into his face before his first morning coffee was not really what he was aiming for. Careful not to get sloppy with his reactions, the swift scout started thinking about the annoying rumours about Tristana and him. Yes, they did have some very successful missions together and got paired quite frequently lately, especially for difficult missions. But that was just because he was the best scout Bandle had to offer and her fire power and mobility were unrivalled in the Megling Commandos.

If he was asked how Tristana was like, he always said that she was the one person he would trust on a mission like that. Mainly because that was the only real thing he could say about her. Not that she was a horrible person or something, no... she was just no real person all together. She having a love interest in him was completely out of the question, because Teemo never really saw her out of the training grounds, missions or league matches. "That girl lives for her Bazooka" was the most common thought he had about her.

He couldn't let the public know that she was a gun nerd whose only hobby was training. He was just too polite to say something like that. That's what he thought, at least. Subconsciously it was less of politeness and more of his own secretiveness that made him say those nice sounding but completely empty sentences all the time. Deep down inside himself he was glad about the rumours. They prevented that his true... nature was exposed to all of Valoran.

Tristana had started doing laps a while ago. Annoyed by running circles all the time, glancing over to the cross-country track every once in a while, she saw Teemo leaving the obstacle course and walking towards the rest rooms. She did a little dash and then jogged over to take his place before he could return. Looking over his shoulder, Teemo could see Tristana had started her first of probably many laps around the obstacles. Without his wide smile wavering even once, he thought of how annoying he found her sometimes and then walked right past the toilets to finally get his coffee.

Hours later, Teemo had gone home after a literal bucket of coffee and some blow darts at the shooting range, Tristana had finally finished her "warm-up", as she liked to call it. Just as she walked over to the shooting range, getting excited to finally be able to shoot stuff, which brightened her mood remarkably, she heard someone call out her name. She turned around to see Teemo running towards her.

She smiled and waved, being thankful of him knowing her well enough to let her alone this morning. She really did like him, which was the main cause why she got mad when someone brought up the rumours about them being a couple. For her, this was wishful thinking.

When he was close enough for her to actually see his face, her smile vanished. He looked distressed. Alarmed, even.

Finally he reached her, slightly panting but looking her straight in the eye. No smile. "What's wrong? Didn't you go home some time earlier?" Tristana asked cautiously.

"I was home, preparing some food when a message from HQ came in. There's a blimp on its way here from Piltover. It will reach Bandle tonight."

"A blimp? What's the rush? Who's coming from Piltover who can't afford the 3 days a standard ship takes?"

Teemo shrugged. "Only thing I know is that we are ordered to enable a fast landing and a transport from the landing spot to somewhere in central Bandle. No more intel on that."

Tristana frowned deeply. "So why did you have to let me in on this so urgently?"

"Because we will be the ones responsible for the transport. We should report to HQ right away to get more information on this. We have to know where we're going, after all!" Teemo allowed his smile to return for a moment. "You ready to go?"

"Do I have a choice?" Without waiting for an answer she turned around and jogged away towards the Headquarters.

Teemo stood there for a second, wondering if she just didn't care or if she really was so dense that she didn't see what this was. The fastest way from Piltover to Bandle. A transport from the landing spot to somewhere in central Bandle. As fast as possible, but absolutely safe. There were no political problems between the two city-states. There was only one possible reason for someone to be rushed from the City of Progress to Bandles centre. How could she not see that?

Piltover, 2 days earlier_

Heimerdinger hurried down the white corridors towards the intensive care unit. He had to see this himself. He always needed to make sure of things himself. When his personal assistant had told him what was going on he took off instantly to get here and see with his own eyes.

He stopped in front of the door. Taking one deep breath, he opened it and stepped in. Some humans were lying in beds, wired to machines that beeped just a bit too loud. In the far corner of the wide room, a bed held something else. Heimerdinger trembled a bit, walking silently towards the bed. Connected to various machines, a drip slowly infusing something into his right arm, an oxygen mask over his muzzle, was an unconscious Ziggs.

A doctor stepped next to Heimerdinger. "Can I help you with something, Mr. Heimerdinger?" "What is wrong with our Dean of Demolitions? My last piece of information was that he reported sick about a week ago. I sent someone to look after him yesterday, just to get him back to work. He tried fake illnesses once or twice in his time at the academy…"

"To be completely honest with you: we do not know what happened to him. He has an extreme fever and is heavily weakened. He is nearly comatose most of the time, but sometimes he has fits and mumbles unconnected words."

"Words like..?" Heimerdinger asked, curiously.

"We couldn't really understand. A nurse is quite sure she heard 'Bandle' and 'Sorry'. And we had the impression that he sometimes cries in his sleep. We couldn't make sure, though, because he gets extremely violent when someone tries to take off his goggles for some reason. We tried it only once. He bit a nurse in the arm so hard he drew blood and then blared something along the lines of 'don't take him from me!'."

Heimerdinger's mind was racing. He processed everything the doctor had said, but there was one thing missing... "What is his perspective?"

The doctor said nothing at first, looking at the yordle in the bed. He looked so small, so vulnerable. "I can't say too much about that. But one thing is sure: as long as we can't find what makes him ill we can't do anything. And we have already tried anything that makes remotely any sense. Believe it or not: medicinally, this yordle is completely well."

Heimerdinger just looked at the doctor, thinking about what he just heard. "Doctor, do you think there is any possibility to get him to Bandle Central?"

"The hospital in Bandle?" The human looked at a sheet of paper. "I don't think he could take a 3-day ship cruise to Bandle."

Heimerdinger looked a bit shocked. He would never have imagined that it would be so bad already. "But you probably can't help him here. How long do you think the trip could be for him to not..." The old yordle's voice crackled. He couldn't say it. He had to do anything in his power to make Ziggs well again.

Then it hit him. "A blimp! The Academy is currently working on faster versions of blimps. We could use one if the prototypes and bring Ziggs to Bandle central in about 18 hours! Would that be fast enough? He needs his home. He needs doctors specialized on yordle medicine."

"I'm not entirely sure, but 18 hours might be fast enough. Provided that we could take as much medical machinery with us as he is currently strapped on. And it's hard to admit, but we can't do any more than we already did here." the doctor said with a slight nuance of spite in his voice. He didn't really dislike yordles in general, this Heimerdinger was just getting on his nerves. But he was right; the only real way of saving Ziggs was getting him to Bandle. They left the room shortly after, hurrying their ways to prepare the transport of the Dean of Demolitions.

Bandle, today_

"To Bandle Central? It's a transport of a sick person? Why would anyone come from Piltover to Bandle of all places to get better medical treatment?" Tristana basically shouted at the secretary who was in charge. Teemo stood behind her and didn't change his facial expression at all.

"Please calm yourself, ma'am. Let me give you every detail first!" the secretary replied coolly, emphasizing the word ma'am just enough to make it a tiny bit offensive. Teemo secretly admired how fearless this person was to put the volatile Megling Gunner in her place like that.

After hearing all the details, Teemo's normally everlasting smile slipped a second time that day. Ziggs being in a condition Piltover's finest medics couldn't even **understand** was even worse than anything he had imagined beforehand. Tristana turned around to face him. "We have to tell Rumble!"

"What? Why?" Teemo was now seriously confused.

"He and Ziggs were best friends before Ziggs left. He needs to know about this condition or he will never forgive us if he couldn't help! What if something happened? He would blame us forever! Did you forget that encounter 3 weeks ago?" Tristana explained.

No, Teemo remembered. Rumble standing on the cliff over the Junkyard, staring at it forever. Tristana insisting on checking on him despite Teemo's doubts. The tear strands on Rumble's face. Tristana telling him all she knew about Rumble afterwards. "I see your point. Then we have no time to spare. You go check on his workplace, I don't know exactly where that is. But I know his apartment building. Let's split and get him to a meeting at the hospital, I'd say. We have to clarify some things with the staff there, anyway."

And so they departed. Tristana rushing through the busy city centre towards the industrial quarters, Teemo hurrying towards the district where Rumble lived. Tristana reached Rumble's workplace first. She listened closely. No sound came from inside. She knocked at the door, shouting out his name. It was locked. She peered through one of the small, dirty windows. The workshop looked like it hadn't been used in a while. What would Rumble do other than tinker around on his mech? She had a really bad feeling about this now.

Teemo reached the door to Rumble's apartment. "Rumble? It's me, Teemo! We need to talk!" He knocked on the door. It swung open. Why would someone leave his door open? Cautiously, Teemo stepped in. "Rumble?" The air was bad, too warm and smelled of sweat and faeces. "This is bad... What's going on here?" Teemo thought. The door to the bedroom stood ajar. Slightly scared now, Teemo sneaked over and knocked again, peeking through the entrance. "Rumble..? RUMBLE!" Teemo's face slipped a third time that day and turned to a grimace as he saw him. That moment, he heard Tristana call out for him. "Tristana! Up here! I need your help RIGHT NOW!"

Somewhere above the ocean, a shiny blimp hovered away from Piltover. It was packed with as much medical equipment as possible, a doctor, a pilot and a severely ill yordle. Ziggs mumbled into his oxygen mask. It was only one word over and over again. But the engines were too loud for anyone else to hear. Ziggs clutched the goggles that someone had taken off of his face and had put it on his chest. His fever-ridden mind clutched them as well. The memory of a happy, smiling Rumble, giving him a box for his 18th birthday. Ziggs opening it and found a pair of elaborately manufactured goggles in it. He looked up from them and just stared into the golden eyes of his best friend. "So you can properly look at explosions!" Rumble laughed. Ziggs instantly hugged him tightly. He hadn't taken off these goggles since.


End file.
